Guiding Hands
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: A collection of stories about Hogwarts' teachers, and the minds they shaped. 1: Remus Lupin 2: Cuthbert Binns 3: Gilderoy Lockhart 4: Rubeus Hagrid 5: Minerva McGonagall 6: Sybil Trelawney 7: Dolores Umbridge 8: Barty Crouch Jr aka Moody 9: Filius Flitwick 10: Quirinus Quirrel 11: Severus Snape 12: Albus Dumbledore 13: Pomona Sprout 14: Neville Longbottom
1. that thing with feathers

Written for Hogwarts' Ancient Runes Assignment: Write about a long-time wish coming true, ANZAC Day (Write a story with no dialogue to represent one minute of silence), and Teacher Appreciation Week (Remus Lupin, [restriction] No dialogue).

 _Word count:_ 632

 **that thing with feathers**

To say that Remus was surprised when the owl, regal, proud, and most importantly, carrying a letter stamped with the Hogwarts' seal (a seal he hadn't thought he'd see again), tapped on his kitchen's window one morning would be severely downplaying what Remus had felt.

He hadn't expected this-even with the news of Sirius' escape _(oh Merlin, Sirius, yet another of Remus' many regrets)_ , even knowing that people would end up knocking on his door, asking if he had seen or heard from his 'old friend', never mind that 'friend' was the last thing Remus wanted to call Sirius Black, he hadn't actually expected an official letter.

Opening it with trembling hands, Remus had to read it twice for the words to actually register; and the he had to sit down, head spinning.

 _Dear Mr. Lupin,_

 _It has come to my attention that you were in need of a job. As it turns out, I am in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Hogwarts would, of course, take all necessary precautions to ensure your stay at the castle is safe for everyone involved, and we would appreciate a prompt answer._

 _With my most sincere salutations,_

 _Albus Dumbledore._

Remus was smiling, he knew he was, but he couldn't help it. Even as he started to consider everything that could go wrong-every reason why he should say no-, why he had to say no-he was still smiling.

Him, a teacher. He could hear James laughing proudly in his mind, Peter's stuttering as he joked that Remus was already more of a teacher than most people he knew, Lily's kind whispers of support and encouragement, and Sirius-always, always Sirius, the voice he could never truly silence-stating with absolute certainty that of course Remus was going to be a teacher, it was practically the perfect job for him.

And he could hear his own voice in there too-the voice of the child he had once been, telling him that this was his dream and that he should go for it, that this might be his only chance to fulfill it.

Remus didn't know how long he stayed there, fingers tracing the inked letters on the parchment as his mind wandered, but when he finally let himself be dragged out of his dazed state, noon had already passed and he realized that he already had lessons outlines for the first four years.

It wasn't like Remus had had anything planned for today, but still, the realization that so much time had already passed since he had gotten the letter-the offer-filled him with the same kind of jittery dread the perspective of exams had. It is a feeling he hadn't expected to miss-hadn't even known he did miss until he was feeling it again.

He wanted this, he realized. He wanted this in the way he hadn't wanted anything in a long time. This-being a teacher, going back to Hogwarts-was perhaps the first thing he was considering allowing himself ever since his time running with the Marauders.

 _(considering how that had ended, maybe he should be more careful to guard his desires now, but mostly he just_ wants- _wants to find out what this could lead to, wants to find if he can be a good teacher, if he can do something worthwhile for once)_

 _(oh Merlin, please let him do something worthwhile)_

He sent a letter declaring that he was accepting the offer, though he would retract if he felt Dumbledore's precautions concerning his _condition_ weren't enough, and for the first time in a long, long while, when Remus fell asleep that night, he actually felt something aki to hope, blooming in his chest.

He had forgotten that feeling.


	2. Of Paperwork and Revenge

Written for the Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Cuthbert Binns, Muggle!AU.

 _Word count:_ 1180

 **Of Paperwork and Revenge**

Cuthbert hated teaching History to high school students. College, he could handle-after all, college students actually wanted to be here, and they were interested in History.

High school students, on the other hand, were pretty much forced to be there, and you could feel it. They thought he couldn't see them sleeping or working on other things, but at least those students didn't disturb his lessons—and he could always get his own back through homework and exams anyway, which he usually did (Minerva, one of the Maths teacher, had stared at him disapprovingly when he had said that, but Severus, who taught Chemistry, had appreciated Cuthbert's wisdom a lot more, and had even asked for tips once).

No, the worst students were the little pranksters, the ones who thought they could get away with everything just because they found his class boring or believed that History wasn't 'that important of a subject'—and the worst of those were the Weasley twins.

"You should just fail them," Severus suggested matter-of-factly when Cuthbert had reported on the two redheaded menaces. "Or stick them into detention with lines to write. It's what I do."

"Does it work?" Cuthbert asked, interested.

Severus winced. "Well, it does _something_."

"Maybe I should just ban them from my classroom," Cuthbert mused. It was something he had considered before, but rarely executed. He felt like interrupting his lesson validated the students, so he usually settled for ignoring them and reporting their behaviors on the report cards and to the Headmaster, but sometimes there were students with whom that didn't quite work, students who just didn't care.

"And how did they end up in the same class anyway?" Cuthbert moaned.

Severus snorted in his coffee. "I think they probably did something to the list," he says, coughing. "Or bribed Minerva."

"Who bribed Minerva?" said woman asked, tone dangerously sweet as she sat down beside them.

"Speak of the devil," Cuthbert muttered quietly, before smiling widely and greeting Minerva.

"No one," Severus answered quickly, his already pale skin now even paler. "As if you'd ever accept a, a _bribe_."

Minerva hummed, looking from Cuthbert to Severus and then back again with those piercing eyes of hers. It was crazy, the way she intimidated him—he was older than her, had been teaching for more years, and yet she still managed to make him feel like a student every time she gave him that look. At least Severus had the excuse of actually having been one of her students.

"That's what I thought," she finally said, leaning back in her chair a little. "But if you were wondering about the Weasley twins—don't look so surprised," she said, rolling her eyes a little, "what else would you two be talking about?—their mother's actually a friend of Albus'."

"You mean to tell me that _Albus_ is the reason why we have to deal with those two demons at the same time?!" Cuthbert said, ire burning in his veins. " _Albus_?!"

"You know, I'm not surprised," Severus sighed, rubbing at his temples. "He probably even finds them amusing."

Minerva winced, but nodded. "He does."

"Well, we'll see if he still finds them so amusing when I send them to his office twice a week at 8 am," Cuthbert retorted meanly.

"He'll just send them back to you," Filius, the Physics teacher, interjected. "I tried that once and it didn't work. Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear," he adds, sitting on the last free chair at the table.

"It's fine," Cuthbert sighed. "I should retire," he finally added, perking up. "Why haven't I retired yet?"

"You said something about 'loving the work', I believe," Filius replied with a smirk. "Oh, and, 'the only way you're getting me out of this school is by killing me and carrying my dead body over the threshold'."

Cuthbert groaned as Minerva laughed. "I still can't believe you said that, by the way."

"Yeah, well, I can't either," Cuthbert said, scowling. "I must have been out of my mind."

"As opposed to your perfectly sane usual self, I presume," Severus drawled, and right, that was why Cuthbert disliked spending too much time with the younger generations (even if Severus was by far the most sensible of them all). They had no respect for their elders.

"I should retire and leave you scrambling to find a new History teacher," Cuthbert retorted. "That'd serve you right."

"I don't think Albus would let you do that," Minerva said with a smile.

Cuthbert sighed dejectedly. "Yes, you're probably right too."

Minerva patted him on the arm softly. "Hey, cheer up: only one more year and they're leaving."

Cuthbert blinked, feeling the slow spread of a smile on his face. "That… does actually help, thank you."

"We could always expel them," Severus suggested, his eyes far-away in the way that suggested he was daydreaming about it again. It made Filius laugh.

"You can't always expel students because you don't like them, Severus," Minerva scolded, though her lips twitched up.

"Yes," Filius added, "if you did that we wouldn't have a single student to teach anymore."

"Aah, paradise," Severus sighed wistfully.

Almost despite himself, Cuthbert felt his lips turn downward. "Life would be pretty dull then, though," he heard himself say, and promptly had to pretend not to see the fond and knowing looks Minerva and Filius sent his way, nor the disgusted scowl Severus made before draining the last of his coffee.

"Well, as scintillating as this was, I have a class to prepare for," Severus said as he got up. "We wouldn't want the students to blow up the school, now, would we?" He then exited the room, black lab coat billowing after him (Cuthbert had asked once, why that coat wasn't white, but all he had gotten out of the others had been that Severus thought white 'wasn't is color').

"I guess we should go too, then," Cuthbert said, not wanting to be outdone by the younger teacher.

"Or," Minerva suggested with twinkling eyes, "we could have tea, and I could tell you all about the mysterious but important paperwork Albus now has to do before the end of the week."

"Oh, do tell," Filius said excitedly.

Cuthbert shrugged, but he settled back in his seat. "I suppose I could stay for a little while longer…"

This was why he liked Minerva, he reflected as the woman started her tale of the obscure paperwork she had unearthed just to get back at Albus: she knew how to take a proper revenge. Just the thought of Albus struggling to complete his paperwork—the man always seemed to leave it for the last minute—was enough to put a smile on his face for the rest of the day.

It was, he thought, the perfect revenge for the Weasley twins situation. Why, Cuthbert himself might contribute! He was sure that he too could unearth some old paperwork for Albus to complete.

It would only be fair, after all, that the Headmaster suffered along with his teachers, wouldn't it?


	3. Distasteful Teachings

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Gilderoy Lockhart, portrait.

 _Word count:_ 488

 **Distasteful Teachings**

Honestly, Lisa didn't think there was any teacher she could dislike more that Gilderoy Lockhart.

(she'd use the verb 'hate', but her mother had always told her to save her hatred for the people who really deserved it, and Lockhart, though distasteful, probably didn't quite reach that mark)

She had thought Quirrell was bad last year, what with the stuttering and the _garlic_ (dear Merlin, it had taken her most of the summer months to be able to smell garlic and not have flashbacks to those dreadful Defense lessons), but at least the man had taught them some actual Defense.

Even Binns, who put his entire class to sleep, was a better teacher than Lockhart, because at least no one could argue that the ghost didn't know his subject.

But Lockhart… How had the man even gotten the job? And how could anyone who had met him believe that he had ever accomplished anything? His books were full of nonsense—Lisa had read them once because she had had to, and immediately swore never to do it again. It wasn't like there was anything useful in them anyway, and she was much better served by using the Library for this.

But the worst were his classes. The man simply couldn't stop talking about himself—about his hair and his smile, which, admittedly, was the nicest one Lisa had ever seen, though the novelty had long since faded now, tarnished by the lack of anything substantial about their teacher's personality.

And if that wasn't enough, there were the _portraits_. They were everywhere—all over the walls of the classroom, everywhere Lisa turned to look, her eyes met a portrait's, who winked at her while smiling blindingly, preening ridiculously like Defence class was some kind of photoshoot.

If only he was using them to do something useful, like make sure his students were actually working—Lisa had no doubt as to the true purpose of the many portraits in the hallways, and it wasn't decoration—but no, his various pictures and painted portraits were only there to look pretty, agreeing with everything the real Lockhart did, nodding along to his every words like simpering maidens whenever the teacher made a move.

It was sickening, truly, but Lisa would have to bear it.

And who knew, the curse was due to strike soon—only a couple more months until the year ended, and Lisa couldn't wait. With any luck, some terrible accident would befall him, and Lisa would never have to see him again.

In the meantime, she'd have to do with simply daydreaming over his reaction when he found out that his smile no longer was so perfect. It promised to be spectacular, after all.

 _(what? Lisa had never said she wasn't above petty revenge, even against a teacher, and Lockhart certainly deserved whatever pranks Lisa could dream up for all the grief he had caused this year)_


	4. On First Lessons

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Rubeus Hagrid, (setting) faculty lounge.

I tried doing an accent, I'm not sure how it turned out though…

 _Word count:_ 457

 **On First Lessons**

"So, Hagrid, tell us, what do you have planned for your first lesson?" Minerva asked, sipping at her tea slowly.

Rubeus licked his lips, suddenly feeling a little awkward in his chair. It wasn't the first time he found himself in the faculty lounge, but it was the first time he was there as more than the caretaker and Keeper of the Keys—the first time he was there as a teacher too. It was, honestly, somewhat intimidating.

He was excited though—creatures were his passion, and he still wasn't quite sure he could believe that Dumbledore had actually asked _him_ to be the new Care teacher. It didn't feel quite real, but hopefully that would change once he actually started the lessons.

"Ah… Ah did have a few ideas," he said, trying not to come off as shy as he was feeling.

"Oh, really?" Filius asked, bouncing excitedly in his seat. Somehow, that easy enthusiasm and non-judgemental support soothed Rubeus' nerves.

"Well, Ah was thinkin' about maybe showin' them the Thestrals first, they're sweethearts… Or the Hippogriffs, they're staying nearby at this time of the year, don't ya think it could be a fun lesson?"

"It certainly does sound, uhm, _interesting_ ," Filius swallowed thickly, laughing a little nervously, and exchanging a look with Minerva Rubeus couldn't quite decipher before turning back toward him.

"Well, as long as the children are safe," Minerva said, hands clasped tightly around her tea cup, "I'm sure it'll be fine. Did Albus approve of this?" she asks politely.

Rubeus nodded enthusiastically, smiling widely. "He said it was a great idea," he gushed.

"Well, if Albus approves, I suppose it will do," Minerva said, lips pursed thinly.

"Hippogriffs _are_ fascinating creatures," Filius added. "I'm sure they'd make a great subject for your first lesson, and they would definitely leave an impression."

"Hopefully not too much of one," Minerva muttered, but after a sigh she eased up a little. "I'm sure you'll do great, Hagrid—you love your subject, and those creatures, and Albus wouldn't have chosen you for this if he didn't believe you could do it. You just need to believe it too."

Filius was nodding along, his head bobbing up and down quickly, and Rubeus felt his eyes water.

"Thank ya," he said. "This really means a lot to me, ya know?" he added, wiping his cheeks. "Ah just want to get it right."

"You will," Filius replied confidently. "Just do your best and it'll be fine," he added, reaching up to pat Rubeus' forearm.

"Yes, and before long you'll be just like the rest of us, complaining about the way students write their essays," Minerva joked, snorting in her tea.

Rubeus couldn't help it—he laughed.


	5. Mischief Makers

Written for the Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Minerva McGonagall, "Why is there a tree growing in my office?".

 _Word count:_ 786

 **Mischief Makers**

The problem, Minerva knew, was that she was just a bit too fond of the Weasley twins. They were terrible trouble-makers, and they didn't apply themselves nearly as much as she knew they could (considering just how well-thought some of their pranks were), and they should probably be some of her least favorite students, but she couldn't help it.

She had always had a soft spot for the clever trouble-makers. She wasn't sure why, or how it had first started, but while she liked to think she liked each of her students equally, she was always also slightly fonder of the mischief-makers.

That didn't mean, however, that they couldn't get on her nerves, such as they had right now.

"Mr. and Mr. Weasley," she said, gritting her teeth and trying to keep her tone even, "I had hoped I wouldn't have to see you so soon into the year."

"Sorry, Professor-" one twin-Fred? or was it George? Minerva could never really keep track, no matter how hard she tried, and she had the feeling she wasn't the only one-started with a falsely sheepish smile.

"-but we just couldn't wait to see you again," the other continued.

"Yes, those summer months were really too long," the first one finished mournfully.

Despite herself, Minerva could feel her lips twitch her a little, but that was neither the time nor place for that.

"Why is there a tree growing in my office?" she asked, smothering her amusement and glaring at them intently. That was, after all, the reason why she had asked them to come to her office, and no matter how entertaining they were, their behavior had been out of line. "I'm waiting," she added impatiently.

The twins squirmed a little under her glare, and Minerva felt a jolt of satisfaction at this sight. It was nice to know that she still had _some_ influence over these twos.

"What tree?" one of the twins finally asked, tone innocent-not that Minerva would ever be fooled by that again.

Minerva raised an eyebrow, unimpressed . "This tree," she stated dryly, gesturing at the monstrosity that now took around half the space in the room.

"Oh, _that_ tree," the boy said, his brother laughing nervously beside him. "Right, no idea."

"Is that right?" Minerva drawled sarcastically.

"Would we lie to you, Professor?" he asked dramatically, hand clasped over his heart like he was trying to protect an imaginary wound.

"Yes," Minerva replied immediately, "you would. Also, you signed your work."

They rarely did, though everyone always knew it was them anyway, as they had a rather particular prank signature (something that Minerva could only identify because they weren't the first pranksters she had had to teach).

"A gift gone wrong, then," the second redhead boy said promptly, barely taking the time to exchange a look with his brother, who immediately added with a wide smile, "We just wanted to welcome you back-to wish you a happy start for this new year."

"We noticed your office was a little drab last year, after all," the first twin said, taking on a sad, reminiscing look that nearly made Minerva snort in amusement.

"We just wanted to… liven it up a little," the second one said.

"And your answer to that was to have a tree take over half my office?" Minerva asked, eyebrow raised questioningly.

"It's a pretty tree?"

The twins smiled sheepishly, their expressions eerily identical. It made Minerva shiver a little with unease, and not for the first time she wondered how exactly Molly managed to deal with those two.

"Yes, very pretty," Minerva stated, keeping her tone as dry as she could. "But it still breaks about half a dozen rules, and so I'm afraid I'll have to assign you a detention. Friday evening, with Mr. Filch," she added quickly, seeing the unholy glee sparking up in their eyes and recognizing it as something she didn't want to deal with. "Congratulations, boys, you just got the first detentions of the year, I hope you're proud of yourselves. And now, back to your common room," she said sternly.

The boys left quickly after that, pretend-contrition seeping from their every pore, but Minerva doesn't have to be a Seer to know that it fades the moment they're out of sight.

In fact, now that they are she can hear the telling sound of hushed, satisfied laughter, and it tells her that them getting a detention might have actually been their first goal.

Well, if they want to help clean up the Trophies' room, who is she to stop them?

 _(still, she'll be careful while dispelling that tree-who knows what kind of 'surprise' it could hide)_


	6. Salvation

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Sybil Trelawney, (emotion) gratitude.

 _Word count:_ 508

 **Salvation**

It was hard to think through the haze the alcohol had induced, but the relief cut sharply through it anyway, just enough for Sybil's mind to go ' _thank Merlin I can stay_ ' on a loop.

Her mind kept jumping back to the heart-wrenching pain she had felt when that, that _pink toad_ had told her she couldn't be a teacher anymore (and surely that couldn't be true, couldn't be valid, not when Sybil had been there for so long and had never done anything wrong) and had begun to drag her away from her quarters, barely leaving her enough time to gather her belongings.

Even just remembering the despair she had felt then at the knowledge that she was being banished from the castle that had become her home like she was a criminal-the humiliation at being seen that way by both the faculty and her students-was enough to make her eyes burn with more tears that she tried to drown with more alcohol.

Merlin, she was pathetic. Was this how she was thanking Dumbledore for letting her stay? Was this the only way she could show how terribly grateful she was for the faculty's support (sweet Circe, even Minerva, who Sybil was well aware didn't like her, had helped Sybil move back to her rooms, mumbling dark, vengeful things about Umbridge all the way), by getting drunk out of her mind?

She didn't have an excuse this time. She wasn't drinking to help open her third eye and see beyond the veil, she was drinking because she wanted this day to have never happened.

How, she wondered, had she never seen this coming? How could she have missed such an important event in her life?

The alcohol burned down her throat as she took another swig of the bottle, the liquid sloshing over her hands and chin a little.

"I'm a fraud," she whispered, hysterical laughter bubbling up in her chest. "I'm a fraud," she repeated, louder this time. She took more alcohol, welcoming the burn, and said it again, and again, and again, louder each time, until she couldn't quite breathe from her broken laughter and the pain in her chest, until her words dissolved into sobs.

Thank Circe no one could see her now, or surely they'd change their minds about letting her stay and she thought that that might destroy her completely.

Her bottle was nearly empty now, but she took another swig anyway, not even trying to pace herself. Her hands were shaking as her earlier hysteria left her, and she felt too bare, too vulnerable. All she could feel was this wretched thankfulness, tugging at every fiber in her heart, and she hated it as much as she loved it, wanted it gone as much as she desperately clung to it.

Because if it was a choice between the pain of someone wanting her to be chased from her home and the overwhelming relief of knowing that someone wanted her to stay, she'd choose the second one every time.


	7. let me be anywhere but here

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers' Week: Dolores Umbridge, (scenario) someone being sick.

 _Word count:_ 355

 **let me be anywhere but here**

 _This was a nightmare_ , Dolores thought. Of course, it _had been_ a brilliant play on Cornelius and hers' part to implant her as High Inquisitor at Hogwarts-there was, after all, no other (nor better) way to keep an eye on Dumbledore's schemes-but she also really wished it hadn't had to involve her teaching _children_.

They were just so boring and unruly, always yapping about 'practicing spells' and the 'dangers of the real world', like any of them could have a better idea of what the real world was like than she did. She was, after all, the adult there- _she_ knew what life was like outside of the sheltered walls of Hogwarts, and so she knew better than them exactly what they needed to learn, and that didn't include things they could be tempted to use against the proper authorities.

And now, as if dealing with their rebelliousness, doomed as it was, and their complaining wasn't enough, she also had to deal with them being sick all over her classroom.

It was the craziest thing, too: they looked fine one moment, but then they got terrible nosebleeds, or they started vomiting violently until Dolores had no other choice but to disrupt her lesson and send them to the infirmary.

 _A nightmare_ , she told herself again as she vanished the mess a brown-haired Ravenclaw had left behind with a sneer.

"Back to your reading," she snapped at the students. "I want a summary of the fifteenth chapter on my desk at the end of the lesson, remember," she added, and took pleasure in hearing the muted groans of protest that came with the reminder.

"What was that?" she asked sweetly, looking over the classroom.

"Yes, Professor," the class grumbled half-enthusiastically before falling back into the silence Dolores prefered.

"Good," Dolores said. "You have an hour and a half left," she added, settling in to wait. Hopefully there'd be no more interruption… And if there were… Well, Dolores would just have to teach them that being sick was no excuse to miss out on assigned work, now, was it?


	8. abyss, abyss

Written for Hogwarts' Teacher Week: Barty Crouch Jr, perfidious.

 _Word count:_ 327

 **abyss, abyss**

Had anyone told Barty that he'd end up as a teacher one day, he would have laughed in their faces, and then maybe hexed them once their back was turned, for good measure. After all, for most of his childhood, it had been expected of him to carry on his father's political pursuits, and even once Barty had chosen to follow his own dreams and wants rather than his father's-joining the Dark Lord would be the only decision Barty could never regret, even for all the grief it had caused him-he had known that getting a position as high up in the Ministry as his father's would only be beneficial to his Lord's plans.

And then his Lord had fallen and his father had sent him to Azkaban, had sent him to rot in hell without a care in the world, and it shouldn't have hurt but it had.

 _(how was it, Barty wondered, that whenever he thought he couldn't hate his father more, the old man made just that possible? Because Merlin, if it was a choice between Azkaban and being his father's_ slave _, he'd pick Azkaban any day)_

But his Lord hadn't died and he had found Barty, had come for him-had saved him, even, and for that Barty's life was his. For that-for his Lord-Barty would walk right into their enemy's house and lie in wait there, would play at being one of them and wear his enemy's face and teach children how to fight.

And if sometimes, Barty thought that maybe, if he did this right, these children would learn to be free, well, it was nobody's business but his, wasn't it?

 _(it was treacherous-perfidious, even-to hold such thoughts, but Barty couldn't stop, couldn't not think about the boy he had been, and how that boy would have given anything for someone to see him)_

 _(how that boy had given everything, in the end)_


	9. Favorite Lesson

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Filius Flitwick, Wingardium Leviosa.

 _Word count:_ 393

 **Favorite Lessons**

Every once in awhile, someone will ask Filius what his favorite spell to teach is. Sometimes it's a student, either merely curious or trying to find a subject that will curry favor with Filius himself (he always lies to those students, giving each of them a different answer with a smile and a laugh), and sometimes it's one of his fellow teachers, trading one of his tales for one of theirs.

Minerva and Pomona are those who ask him the most often-Severus has no real care for sharing stories, and prefers to ignore everyone when he can, and sneer at, well, everything when he can't (Filius would be more offended if he didn't remember a fifteen-year-old boy doing pretty much the same thing), and the Defense teachers change too often for them to have any really good stories. Sybil does too, when she deigns get down from her tower, but deciphering the truth from the mysticism is always time-consuming with her and slightly annoying. Not that Filius really minds, of course. Well, not like Minerva does anyway.

 _(it's always hilarious, seeing the way Sybil manages to get on every single one of Minerva's nerves when Minerva is usually so collected)_

In return for their questions, he asks them what their favorite thing to teach is. It's funny, in a way, because their answer varies every time (and it's not because they're lying), whereas his never does.

His favorite spell to teach is _Wingardium Leviosa_. Part of it, he's aware, is because it's one of the first spells he teaches the first years, and so there's still that sense of absolute wonder in most of them when the spell works for the first time. Part of it is because he just loves seeing the students slowly master the spell, filling the class with zooming objects that fly in every direction once they do.

He makes his students an obstacle course every year-to check on their mastery of the spell, ostensibly, but really, he just likes to see them having fun racing each other's quills through the air. It usually devolves into chaos pretty fast-no year as much as the time he had the Weasley twins in his class, thankfully-but it does mean he gets a new story to tell every year.

And that… well, that is worth everything.


	10. those who can't do (teach)

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Quirinus Quirrel, (idiom) those who can't do, teach.

 _Word count:_ 363

 **those who can't do (teach)**

The thing was, Quirinus loved teaching. It wasn't exactly something he had expected to be doing as an adult, and he had thought that he, like the majority of the wizarding population of Britain, wouldn't go back to Hogwarts once he graduated, and yet, somehow, now that it had happened, he wouldn't take it back for the world.

Quirinus loved teaching—he loved seeing his students' eyes brighten when they understood a concept he had been trying to explain, loved it when someone asked a particularly bright question (and with Muggle Studies, that happened more often than one might think)—but it also wasn't something he had ever wanted to do at first. He just wasn't very good at anything else.

His grandmother had been the one to convince him to give teaching a shot. "Those who can't do, teach," she had told him one day over tea, her age voice sage and full of advice.

"But what if I want to _do_?" Quirinus had asked, somewhat offended.

"Sometimes, life isn't about what _you_ want, my dear boy, but about what you need," she had replied. Quirinus hadn't understood then, and while he still wasn't sure he had, he knew he had gotten a lot closer in the last few years.

But now he had the opportunity to do something else than teach Muggle Studies—to be better. Maybe it was arrogant of him, to believe that he could be the one to break this rumored curse on the Defense position (and, as far as Quirinus was concerned, the curse was no mere rumor), but he thought he could do it.

Yes, he'd take a year off to travel—to learn the subject the same way he had learned about muggles—and then he'd come back to Hogwarts, ready to try teaching another subject entirely. Oh, just the novelty of that thought made his blood rush through his veins a little faster.

One more year, Quirinus thought—one year where he wouldn't be teaching, where he'd try something new—and then he'd be back at Hogwarts, ready to start a new chapter of his life.

He couldn't wait.


	11. Severus Snape

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Severus Snape, turquoise.

 _Word count:_ 464

 **Of Settling In**

"So, how's Hogwarts?" Albus asked him one day, eyes twinkling as he blew lightly over his tea. "How are you adjusting?"

Severus winced as he considered it. After all, if there was one thing nobody ever expected out of life, it was to end up friends with the people who had once been your teachers. Or well, friendly. To tell the truth, it was actually a rather awkward thing-or so Severus always thought.

It was one thing to call the Headmaster 'Albus'-Merlin knew the man had asked often enough, and beside the fact that he had seen Severus at his lowest already, he had never really taught Severus anything. Sure, he was probably the most powerful wizard currently alive now that the Dark Lord was dead, but that was hard to remember when you had seen the man wear the most hideous turquoise robes with a yellow hat, or when the man insisted on setting his passwords to all kind of sweets-but it was another entirely to get used to calling his Transfiguration Professor by her first name.

Albus, he could deal with. The old man was exhausting, and sometimes Severus just wanted to tell him where to shove his 'holier-than-thou' attitude and 'Greater Good' nonsense, but he was also familiar. Quantifiable, in a way the rest of his coworkers weren't.

Because they wouldn't leave him alone. Somehow, Albus swearing for him meant that they trusted him-and part of him couldn't understand how it was simply that easy for them, how they could simply ignore all the things he had done, that he had killed… _(Lily, his heart still screamed with every heartbeat, no attempt to silence it strong enough)_ just on someone else's say-so.

 _Fools_ , he wanted to spit in their faces, and yet he couldn't. Not when Filius so readily gave him advice he never followed on how to deal with the kids he couldn't stand (which were all of them), or when Minerva argued for her Quidditch team with enough fire to set the air itself ablaze. Not when Pomona smiled at him a little every morning when she handed him the coffee, the only one at the table to understand his preference for it.

They were making it very difficult to hate them by making him want to belong with them, he realized with a sigh.

"I'm adjusting," Severus finally replied, forcing his lips in a sneer that, from the looks of it, didn't fool the Headmaster one bit.

"I'm glad," the old man said, smiling, and the sparkling in his eyes seemed to double.

Severus winced and drank his tea. It was too sweet, but the sooner he finished it, the sooner he could leave.

And Merlin, he couldn't wait to leave.


	12. oh will you fall?

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Albus Dumbledore, [song] "Teacher, Teacher" by 38 Special.

 _Word count:_ 415

 **oh will you fall?**

Albus hid it well, but there were days where he couldn't stand the quiet, couldn't stand the way his mind turned on itself and brought back all the painful memories he tried to forget, all the failures and what-ifs Albus had ever lived through.

 _(it was, he often thought grimly, the curse of growing old)_

Sometimes, he could stop the memories by burying himself in paperwork, or by wandering through the halls of Hogwarts. Seeing his students, the hopes of this next generation, never failed to make him feel better.

But most of the time, he couldn't. Most of the time, he saw flashes of blonde hair at the corner of his eyes, and remember being young and in love and so stupid he thought ruling the world would mean saving it.

Sometimes, he saw the students he couldn't save—hadn't tried hard enough to save (what could have become of Tom Riddle, he wondered on his most maudlin days, had Albus paid him just a bit more attention, had he tried to push him on the right path instead of just pushing him away?)—and the students he was still trying to help.

It haunted him, not knowing if he had really done all that he could have, if maybe there hadn't been something—anything—he had missed that could have saved even just one more soul.

It was terrifying, not having anyone to confide in, not having anyone who could challenge him on his choices, not truly anyway. What if he made the wrong one? Sometimes he felt like his plans were cobbled up with nothing more than hopes and prayers and guesswork, and yes, his guesswork usually worked out, but what if this time it wasn't enough? What if this time—the one time that mattered (his last chance at redemption, at finally getting this right, at saving one of those boys who could be so much more than they knew)—he got it wrong?

 _(sometimes, he hated himself—hated that he couldn't bring himself to tell Harry the truth, that he was essentially sending the boy to his own death armed with nothing but half-baked conjectures and the hope that maybe this time the world wouldn't be so cruel)_

Still, as he had once told his students when they panicked over not getting a spell right, sometimes you could only do so much, and Albus was doing his best.

One could only hope that would be enough.


	13. Tea, Games and Friendship

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Pomona Sprout, (genre) friendship, and Flower Picking Season: (picture URL) post/140461181898/via-collected-saturday-february-humphrey-and.

 _Word count:_ 451

 **Tea, Games and Friendship**

Pomona's favorite moments were the Sunday mornings. She didn't have classes to prepare for, no students to supervise, and she could just relax and tend to her greenhouses to her heart's content.

Sunday mornings were also Minerva and hers unofficial meeting time.

Of course, they saw each other, and talked, at other times during the week—the teachers' meetings were good for that, at least, and mealtimes were another moment where Pomona could talk to someone older than seventeen—but there was something special, something, dare she say it, almost ethereal, about their Sunday morning tea.

It was just so _nice_ , to have someone to talk to who never judged anything you did, and who understood your passions. Though, obviously, their interests laid in different subjects, they both loved teaching (and children) and they were both Heads of their Houses, and through the years they had learned enough of each other's field of study to be able to follow a conversation about it.

Sometimes, they didn't even talk, just sat by the fire with a cup of tea in companionable silence. There was a warmth to those moments that didn't simply come from the fire, or the tea, and it was always the perfect way to both end her week and start the next one.

Minerva was also an avid chess player. Pomona remembered having been surprised by that fact when she had first realized it, though she couldn't for the life of her figure out why now. She held out hope on beating Minerva one day too, though so far that unfortunately hadn't happened.

 _(once, Pomona could remember thinking that Minerva was this kind woman behind her stern facade, and in a way she was, but Minerva was also the most competitive soul Pomona had ever met, and she delighted in crushing her opposition. She never gloated out loud, but her smirks were telling enough)_

But though playing chess against Minerva was violent—not between them, of course not, though the chess pieces did try to get their wielders to fight as ardently as they were—and terrible for Pomona's ego, Pomona always got her own back through Gobstones. That was, when she could convince Minerva to play.

"We should invite Filius," one of them would invariably say every few weeks, to which the other would always reply with a smirk, "But then we'd have to invite Severus too, can you imagine that?"

They'd wince and laugh, because while Severus would probably never agree to come even if he was invited, the thought of him sneering at his Gobstones was rather hilarious.

"Better not," they'd finally say, and then they'd simply go back to their tea.


	14. In The Greenhouse

Written for Hogwarts' Teachers Week: Neville Longbottom, (character) Hermione Granger.

 _Word count:_ 649

 **In The Greenhouse**

"Hi Neville," Hermione said as she entered the greenhouse. Even now, years after Neville had first started working as the Herbology teacher and Hermione herself had left Hogwarts, she was still a little startled to see him instead of Sprout standing there, tending to the rows of plants.

"Hermione? Are you here for Rose and Hugo?" Neville asked, jumping a little before wiping his dirty hands on his trousers.

Hermione huffed with laughter. "What, no hello? Can't I just come to visit a friend?"

"Well, you never have before," Neville said with some amusement. "Or am I wrong to think that you came to Hogwarts for your kids?"

"I did get a rather concerning letter from the Headmistress," Hermione admitted. "But that doesn't mean I didn't want to see you too," she amended quickly, cheeks flushing. "We haven't seen you in a while, after all."

Neville laughs. "It's fine, Hermione, really. You've been busy-you've all been busy-and so was I. You wouldn't believe the kind of trouble some of those kids get into," Neville sighed exasperatedly, before biting his lips as he remember just who he was talking to. "Or maybe you would," he said.

Hermione was visibly trying not to laugh, eyes sparkling with mirth. "To be fair, I doubt anyone could get into the same kind of trouble we did at their age," she said.

"You're probably right," Neville laughed. "We had some crazy years, didn't we?" Somehow the words came out fonder than he had meant to. It made Hermione smile.

"We did," she confirmed, eyes far-away.

"Do you ever miss it?" Neville asked, wishing he could take the words back as soon as he said them. He wasn't quite sure where this thought had come from, but he found that he wanted-no, that he needed to know.

"I don't miss running for my life," Hermione answered pointedly with an amused smirk, "though I guess the boys do, or they wouldn't have chosen to become Aurors," she added, rolling her eyes a little.

"They're good at t though," Neville pointed out.

"They are," Hermione replied, tone significantly fonder now. "Who'd have thought, uh?"

"Certainly not Umbridge," Neville teased, unable to resist.

Hermione let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Oh, I almost wish she could see us now," Hermione said, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "She'd have such a fit!"

"From what I remember, it didn't take much for that," Neville smiled, fingers trailing down the leaves of a potted Mandrake.

"It really didn't," Hermione snorted, nodding. She looked outside, catching the curve of the descending sun, and sighed. "Anyway, it was nice to see you, but I should go."

"The kids?" Neville asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've actually already dealt with that, but I _do_ have work to go back to, you know," she said. "Don't be a stranger though, I know everyone would love to see more of you."

"Well, they _could_ come visit me," Neville joked.

"I think they'd probably get mobbed by the kids if people saw them here," Hermione replied musingly.

"Aww, come on, they're not _that_ bad anymore," Neville lied. Hermione sent him a pointed look that showed how little she was fooled, and Neville shrugged innocently.

"Well, I'll let you convince them to come then, see how it works out."

"You do that," Neville huffed, smiling. "And you take care of yourself, alright?"

"Only if you do," Hermione retorted, hugging him shortly before they parted. "Have fun with your plants!" she shouted as she left.

"Have fun with your paperwork!" Neville shouted back, laughing.

It was a good thing none of the students were around in that moment, because the language Hermione used left his ears ringing.

It really was a shame, Neville thought, that he didn't get visits more often. Hogwarts was just more lively when his old Housemates were around.


End file.
